I was walking through the tent camping on the party side of grass valley, and I saw her coming toward me singing. Just singing out there in front of God and everybody with no guitar or nothing, just looking at me with a big smile and singing. She walked up to me, grabbed both of my arms and continued her song, singing it right into my face, and didn’t stop till it was done. Then she smiled and hugged me like mother earth. Wasn’t nothing subtle about that girl, she was all out there wide open for the world to see.
I remember the first time I met her, it was at Woodland, a small CBA festival that was going at the time. She was sitting on the edge of the tailgate of her truck and she pulled me up next to her, offered me a toke of something I don’t smoke, and proceeded to sing a rollicking version of “the padre from the old sierra madre” and I played and sang along and was having a good old time till her boyfriend at the time sort of gave me the stink eye and let me know, without saying, that he didn’t much like me sitting there.
As someone who has spent a lot of time at festivals and camp outs, I ran into her every where and built a lot of great memories. Her campsites were always full of interesting people and unfettered music.
Not everybody liked he. She was unpolished, a bit rough around the edges, had a few problems with jam etiquette, and a willingness to speak her mind that occasionally rubbed someone or the other the wrong way, but I ain’t one of those people. She was precious to me. I like rough people, common folks who say what they’re thinking, who wear their heart on there sleeve and aren’t afraid to show it to you. I like people who haven’t had it easy. People who suffered and come through it. Maybe people who have had to struggle to stay upright, but have been willing to do just that. It’s the normal people I have trouble understanding. The longer I knew her, the better I liked her, because, really, she was one of my people. The fellowship of the music fanatics… One of us whose love of music and musicians goes way beyond what constitutes good sense. One whose love passes beyond the real to the surreal.
I’ve been in some glorious jams in her camp, made wonderful friendships. I got to know Glen Horn, and Sally Vedder, and Ruth Truesdell, and her lovely friend Kay, who wrote the most wonderful song about loving some man because he had a mouth full of gold teeth. Without her, I’d have never heard that song, and that would have be dirty shame. And this year at grass valley at her campsite we had the legendary 10 banjo jam that electrified whole sections of the campground, bringing on at least 3 signs of the apocalypse, and breaking every rule ever instituted in the history of jamming, and leaving us all with the warm fuzzies for weeks afterwards. I remember hugging her that night and thinking, this could only have happened here.
The last time I saw her was at the Good old fashioned festival in tres pinos. She had sent me a message on face book asking me if I’d play with her on first stage to open the festival, and of course, I was delighted to help, and when I saw her, she seemed so glad I was there, and she was surrounded by her friends, all these people who were part of her life, and I don’t know, it was almost as if she was appreciating people in a deeper way than ever before. And when we played, it was a great time. My dear friend, in the center of her many friends, cheering her on, giving her love.
When I got the news, it was like somebody hit me in the gut. I thought, this can’t be, she just posted pictures on face book yesterday. She was glowing like a fourteen year old angel, at the Mecca of Bluegrass. The IBMA. Looking soft, and alive, and now she’s gone. Ashes to ashes. Dust to Dust. Lord have mercy.
All I know is she was my friend. All I hope is that she is with the angels.
Regina, I’m gonna miss you girl.
